


You Don't Owe Us Anything

by yokomya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Pack Feels, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's all my fault."</p><p>"No, it's not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Owe Us Anything

 

 

“It’s all my fault.”

 

 

Scott’s voice is soft and vulnerable as he hangs his head low, vision hazy. He’s barely able to lift his head. It’s so hard to move because every bone in his body is weighing him down.

“No, it’s not.”

That’s his mom. She’s mumbling encouraging words, words of hopes and perseverance, and she promises him that the future will piece itself back together. Because Scott is a leader. He’s an alpha.

He’s Scott McCall.

She hugs him close and pets the side of his hair, ruffling it gently, before pulling back and kissing his forehead.

“You’re okay, everything will be fine.”

He wishes that he could believe her.

 

In school, he is alone.

Sometimes, the day passes with pins poking sharply into his chest. He looks to his side for comfort. He finds emptiness.

Kira isn’t smiling at him and pasting cute notes in his textbooks anymore. She isn’t giggling and easing away his worries. She isn’t there.

He finds texts from her every now and then, sweet words, quirky humor. She even finds time to send pictures of small pleasantries. A selfie of cupcake frosting on her nose or one of her making a chipmunk face, her cheeks all puffed out and adorable. Simple comforts for Scott, so he knows she isn’t falling apart.

So she can make sure _he_ isn't falling apart.

But they’re both pretending.

Scott is stuck in this underwater cove, barely able to bob for air. And he’s _literally_  needing to seek out that air from his inhaler.

Every time he has to take a hit, it’s never enough. The medicine gets caught up in his throat, as if it isn’t actually meant for his lungs and refuses to reach. Occasionally he wonders how bad it would be if it never did.

How bad it would be if he _did_ stop breathing.

To suffocate so he can stop being so alone and afraid and hopeless.

Then he remembers how selfish that thought is and drags it down into a shaken part of himself. 

His phone dings and it's another text from Kira.

She appears happy in the picture, her smile wide and assuring. But Scott can tell the difference. Her makeup isn’t very smooth - not quite able to hide the worry lines and the dreariness in her pupils and her smile doesn’t quite reach all the way across.

Scott holds his phone tight and then touches his pocket, where his inhaler is waiting patiently.

For when he suffocates.

 

One Monday, Lydia approaches him in the hall.

She brings Scott a couple of pages of notes and some extra readings for their homework, very business like. He refuses to meet her eyes, too undeserving to accept - but she insists, blocking his way, waiting for him to look up.

He raises his head.

Lydia is tired too. Her confidence may be there - she's still shining and she’s still able to strut in her heels - but her steps are weak and her back isn’t so straight and even she can’t hide the scent of sadness pouring off of her shoulders as she stands before Scott.

“Scott,” she says, hiding her emotions by remaining firm, “Just, take them, please.”

And so he does.

Lydia walks off and Scott watches her go wistfully. He almost calls out but his voice is buried beneath all the asthma medicine dusting up his throat.

 

Somehow seeing Malia is the worst. Because she’s normally the one who doesn’t let anything bring her down. She’s the sturdy one, the one who's all bark _and_ all bite. The one who can bounce back.

Not this time.

Malia is quick to brush Scott off, as if she’s always got somewhere to be. She lies to him, not even bothering with excuses anymore. He can hear her quick heartbeat.

She's never been one to run and hide but he can see that this is too much for her. She's caved in on herself too. 

Scott doesn’t go out of his way to talk to her but it still hurts when she ducks her head and races out of class, not a single word of goodbye.

He attempts to give her Lydia’s notes but she always books it, pretending not to hear.

Scott swallows the lump in his throat every time.

 

The days go by slow and when Scott tries to remember how they passed, it’s foggy and murky like muddy water.

Every night, he sleeps as if he’s sinking in quick sand. The world is draining of color around him and his thoughts are plummeting further into dangerous territory.

It’s unbearable.

There are times where he presses his face softly into a pillow, sucks in his breath and holds it. He pretends like it will be like sleeping.

It’s nothing he hasn’t done before. Dying.

Three times now, Scott has felt death. It wouldn’t be so hard to do it again.

But always, he inhales and turns so that he has access to air again, right before his lungs are on the verge of imploding.

Because he remembers how lonely his mother would be without him. And he thinks about how he wants to see Kira again and fall into her bubbly world. How he wants to be alive to see Lydia win her fields medal, to see her stand tall and proud, accomplished. To watch Malia overcome the challenges in her life, blowing each new obstacle out of the water with a satisfied smirk.

 

He wants that.

He wants their happiness.

He wants it so badly. 

 

He _needs_ it.

 

Scott inhales through his nose, shuts his eyes and waits for tomorrow.

 

Lydia is with him after school today.

She comes up, grabs him by the arm and suggests taking a walk together. Scott senses her fluttery hand on his bicep, how it’s determined yet still trembling.

Lydia Martin. The girl who can present herself as being so together - even as her soul is tethering before her eyes. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he agrees, easier than he expected.

They take a stroll to the forest by the school - based on Lydia’s suggestion. It’s strange coming from her. Maybe she thinks it's the only place Scott bothers going to outside of school. It's almost funny.

The two talk for a little bit. Talk about the weather, Biology class, their upcoming exams, how their families are doing. . . They avoid the other topics - the supernatural, the pack, the pain, what's waiting out there for them, how much everything is getting so so _so_ - 

“Scott, you’re not weak,” Lydia calls out suddenly, turning to face him. Her posture is better, like she pep talked herself on the way to this spot. “And what’s been happening to us - what’s been tearing everyone apart - that’s not because of you.”

She crosses her arms defiantly, daring him to object, and tilts her head so that her cascading curls dip off of her shoulder.

Scott touches the cuff of his jacket.

“Yes, it is.”

“Theo tricked you. He tricked all of us.”

Scott is about to rebuttle but her expression changes his mind. He bites his lip and looks down at his sneaker in guilt.

“Scott,” Lydia tries again, “We can do this. _You_ can do this, mkay? We have to try.”

When he gazes up, he finds wisdom in her features - a glimmer of hope.

“I want to help my friends,” Lydia whispers out into the falling leaves.

And Scott swears he hears her words mix in with another voice. He wonders if it’s his imagination.

Lydia looks off to the side, into the distance, as if remembering a memory from here - one from long ago. She curls her fingers at her side. 

Then he knows that he didn’t imagine it and that they’re both thinking the same thing.

“I don’t want to lose anymore,” Lydia finishes, awaiting his reply.

 

_I don't want to lose anyone else._

 

He steps forward, like stepping out of deep waters into more shallow ones. It still hurts. He still hardly breathes - still has to use all of his strength not to collapse.

But it’s a start.

Scott looks into her eyes so he can convey how serious he is. That he wants her to believe in him again.

“Neither do I.”

 

Although Scott searches for solace in touching his inhaler - it's a horrifying experience. Because he finds comfort in knowing it’s the only real choice he has left in his life.

Do I want to die now or later?

He can grab his inhaler and he can rescue himself from an ongoing asthma attack or he can destroy it, step on it, smash it into the wall, anything to keep his lungs constricted. It’s an awful feeling. Holding his own life in his own two hands. 

In class, Lydia presses Malia to take her notes, having a much easier time at getting her to keep eye contact. Scott knows that it’s because Lydia doesn’t have werewolf ears and a werewolf nose. Malia can hide more from her.

The moment Scott decides to come up to them, Malia is ready to leave. She bows her head, swiveling until Scott impulsively throws a hand out.

“Malia - wait! We have to talk to each other. You’re part of my pack. I need you on my side.”

He says it breathily but it’s enough to get her shoes to squeak on the hallway tile and for her body to turn back around.

"Please, Malia. I need you to trust me again. I trust you."

Malia’s eyes glow a translucent, bold blue, heated and in control. She doesn't waste a second responding. 

“Scott, I’ve been hiding things from you.”

“I know.”

“Terrible things.”

“All of us have," Scott replies sadly, "Theo turned us against each other. But we have to let that stuff go for now so we can work on being a pack again. We have to get ready for whatever he’s going to throw next.”

Malia’s blue calms into a pool of deep brown.

“You still want me in the pack?”

“If it's where you want to be - and I hope it is - then yes.”

She nods without hesitation and glances at Lydia whose lips curve up. At first, Malia seems to shift - like she’s going to hug the two of them but doesn’t.

Well, at least now Scott has proof that a werecoyote’s smile can light up a room.

 

Kira is so far away - in New York - not coming back anytime soon.

It’s like Scott’s missing a piece of himself. He knows that physically losing a member of his pack is like losing a limb, but Kira took a part of his heart with her.

Things were going better at least on her end. Her parents are helping her cope with stress and the fox and all the pain that’s grown over the time she’s known Scott. Maybe she was happier before.

Before she met Scott.

She was safer. She would have been happier without him - without all of the crazy monsters that surround Scott McCall. She would have been fine. 

Right?

Scott shuts his eyes and holds his pillow. He pictures Kira’s honey voice and soothing lullabies, her playful giggles, the way she clears his mind of the built up debris.

Then he tears himself apart thinking about Lydia and Malia. About their broken smiles turning into genuine ones. About their hope.

Because his is still dwindling, still floating around in a void of no return. He hates this. He hates falling and crashing and burning.

No, he can’t.

He has to keep going. He can’t leave his friends. His pack. His everything.

He has to survive. 

They matter the most. 

 

“You’ve studied, you’ll be fine,” Lydia mumbles from behind Scott in class.

“Good luck to you too,” Scott grins the slightest, knowing she won’t need it. The test flies by and so does the rest of the afternoon.

In the last few days, the hell fires have burned less bright and he can actually see the sun again - peaking over the horizon.

Until he's out of class, peering down the hallway and the rain begins to pour down, soaking Scott into his bones, reminding him that not all of the shattered pieces are back together.

The pain he avoided the most hammers it's way out - blasting through his already crumbling walls.

Stiles’ fingers are laced on his book bag strap so hard that his knuckles are white and his mouth is a thin line. His hair is tangled, there are dark splotches painted beneath his irises, and there isn’t a single ounce of life left in the way he’s carrying himself.

It’s as if his body is a hollow shell. Unlike Scott, there’s nothing left there. No guilt or shame or sadness or anger. Just emptiness.

Scott’s heart pumps harder because Stiles is walking towards him and moves like a ghost - with no destination or purpose. It’s agony to watch.

Stiles passes without a word, without a look, nothing.

Scott falls apart all over again.

 

No amount of emojis from Kira can ease the sorrow this time. No amount of encouragement from Lydia or brutal honesty from Malia can help.

Scott shoves all the anguish down further and further, pleading for it to disappear.

 

_Please disappear, please go away, please stop._

_Please, please, please._

_Stop hurting._

 

Scott doesn’t even realize he’s holding his inhaler until it’s pressed into his lips and he’s using it to breathe again.

 

I _t’s okay._

_No, it’s not._

_They all look up to you. You’re their hope._

_You’re nothing._

_Don’t give up._

_What’s the point?_

A day later, around the same time, Scott catches Stiles down the hall - wandering aimlessly, weaving through the scattered crowd. 

This time, Scott prepared himself. 

As soon as Stiles is about to drift by, he stops him short by stepping out. Stiles is startled and darts his head up from his daze, only to avert his eyes. 

Scott nervously gathers himself. 

He doesn't know how to say sorry to Stiles or how to ask for his forgiveness. He doesn't know how to earn him back. With Stiles - everything is different. They have too much history. This kind of falling out isn't like ripping a few stitches for them - it's like shredding the whole piece.

When neither make a move or say a word, Stiles decides to meet his eyes.

They stay silent, studying, wondering what the other must be thinking. 

Scott is so afraid of rejection - of Stiles turning his back forever - pretending they never mattered to each other. He doesn't know if he can handle it. He _has_ to say something before Stiles leaves. Before he debates whether Scott's even worth his time. 

_Wait, Stiles, I can think of something. I can do it._

_I can fix everything._

_Leave it to me and I'll do it._

Stiles observes Scott and immediately softens - letting go of the book bag strap, anxiety mixing into concern and guilt. 

"You don't owe me anything," Stiles blurts - wincing once it's out of his mouth, like he just busted a bubble. 

Scott is taken back - arms and legs weakening, chest tightening. 

"You don't owe anyone anything, you know," Stiles continues, "-so don't think for one second I'm going to accept you saying  _I'm sorry_. Everything you've done, Scotty, is more than enough. It's not all up to you, all the time. Okay?"

The words bring a pulse back under Scott's skin and some of the burden lifts. 

There are a thousand things they can both say here - mend up every little torn edge if they want - but for now, Scott can't or he might get overwhelmed with emotion.

So, he swallows thickly. 

"You gonna help me then?" he asks, hope resurfacing. It returns to Stiles' eyes too -along with the color on his face. 

"Hell yeah," he chokes out - throwing his arm over Scott's shoulder. 

 

 

_Things eventually have to go back to the middle._

 

 

All of the self hatred and suffering doesn't wipe itself off the map. Scott still has days where he wants to shrivel up. Where he's in doubt that he can't help his friends. 

On those days - drowning and suffocating isn't like before. 

His inhaler helps, but the whole time, it wasn't really the oxygen that he needed. 

When he slips back into a dark place and his body buzzes - needing relief, screaming for help - he asks this time. 

Even if he doesn't have to, he asks with his eyes or with his body language. He let's his friends help take the burden off his shoulders. 

If things are going bad - Stiles hugs Scott without hesitation, strong and hard until he realizes that Scott might lose his breath again and has to loosen up. He gets Scott to laugh, reminds him that he's not going anywhere, grounds him with everything he has.

Lydia will take his hand gingerly and give a summery smile. The pressure alone is so comforting - her unspoken relief as it washes over him. It’s like a refreshing waterfall, cleansing the doubts and fears.

And Malia’s hand will fly to his back, holding him steady, leaving her unwavering loyalty and protection. She stares at him, silently promising with her fiery gaze that this will pass and get better.

Kira will be gentle and caring over the phone and wake up early in New York just to talk to him until he falls asleep. She'll be home soon - to be back with Scott and her friends. Knowing that is enough. 

 

_Be your own anchor._

When Scott thinks about what that means to him, he blinks and sinks into the emotional scents of his friends, drowning in their affection and warmth.

  
_I don’t always have to._

 

_The pack is my anchor._


End file.
